


Crash Course in Color Theory

by Nyresnuger



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Chatfic Elements, Ensemble Cast, High School AU, Multi, Slice of Life, ana is the best little lady around and this is the truth, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29737503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyresnuger/pseuds/Nyresnuger
Summary: Jack Morrison makes questionable decisions and does his homework less than he probably should, but it's okay. Most of his friends will be there to lovingly bully him no matter what-----The chaotic high school AU you didn't know you needed
Relationships: Ana Amari & Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Hanzo Shimada, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, not romance focused - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Crash Course in Color Theory

**Author's Note:**

> Okay hi, this is a very silly little thing made possible through a lot of delightful late night conversations with both the OW gaymers discord and my dear friend @emile-hides on tumblr.  
> It's a loose high school AU exploring some (pretty silly at times) ideas, and I should preface this with saying that I am not American. Thus, this probably reads a little uncanny valley to anyone who's actually been to a high school? It's partially based on my own time in school - write what you know and all that - with the one caveat that they speak english, I hope it isn't too egregious.
> 
> No matter what, it's fun and relaxing to write and I hope you'll enjoy this silly little thing!

**Ana & The Blondes**

March 1nd 23:58

**[Cap]:** It’s bad

 **[Big Boy Man]:** I'm sure it’s not bad

 **[Cap]:** It’s pretty bad.

 **[TEAfling]:** Okay I’ll bite. How bad

Jack sighs. He doesn’t even have it in him to laugh at how utterly pained he looks in the mirror. As far as he’s concerned, every inch of the cringing wince is more than earned.

He looks bad in the picture he snaps, and it isn’t all because of the impromptu haircut. He presses send without looking and awaits the response. The display reads 00:04 and he’s not surprised it’s only Ana and Rein up at this point.

He’s also fairly sure Angela is going to yell at him when she gets up for staying up late before an exam and he has a sneaking suspicion she’ll have a starkly different definition of ‘an emergency’.

He glances at himself in the mirror one last time before he steals himself for reading their responses. He still has an appearance not unlike a wet dog, the project of properly drying out his hair had become significantly less appealing with the reveal of every new shade of murky blue-green.

He’s still not entirely sure actually sitting there studying (knowing himself, he’d probably just stare anxiously into space) would have been worse than this. He usually doesn’t think of himself as excessively bad at making decisions under pressure but perhaps he can use this as an opportunity to remake his image in more ways than one.

He sighs again, over-dramatic and theatrical even alone in the dark bathroom. His phone lights up when Ana’s response ticks in. 

**Ana & The Blondes**

March 2nd 00:07

**[TEAfling]:** Okay that’s pretty bad

 **[Cap]:** Thank you

He hopes the bitterness translates over text. He at least can sense her dry sarcasm clear as day. The quiet _thump_ when he lets his forehead slump against the sink echoes slightly on the tile.

**Ana & The Blondes**

March 2nd 00:09

**[Big Boy Man]:** I think it looks great!!

  
  


He snorts, types out a short “ _of course you do”_ before sitting up to face his mess. He had angled for blue and he still can’t fully explain what even made him make that decision. He’s helped color Angela pretty much all colors under the sun (though recently mostly fixing up the platinum blonde) and never felt the urge to do anything to his own hair.

He’s not entirely sure what it says about his character that all it took to break him was a french test and his sister not using all the dark blue dye she’d ordered for that one costume party.

Thankfully he’s been fairly neat with it. He might not have actually cried if he had to scrub the stained evidence of his impulsivity off of the sink, but it would probably have come close. He’s just managed to get a towel wrapped around his head so he won't stain a pillowcase either when his phone starts vibrating with an incoming call.

He doesn’t even check who’s calling, just presses accept and watches as Ana’s face flickers onto the screen. It’s dark wherever she’s taking in his suffering from, but he can still see the slight grin she’s holding back clearly.

“Okay loverboy, hat _off_ lets see.”

He rubs a hand across his face. “You really called me just to point and laugh?”

“Yes.” She smiles that almost catlike, smug smile of hers. “Now show me properly.”

He drops his hand, gestures defeatedly. “You don’t want the joy of anticipation?”

“No, I want blurry screenshots of the early days.”

He does his best to glare tiredly directly into the phone’s camera for max effect. He knows she’ll be unfaced anyway so there’s no reason to keep his gaze on her reaction. After a brief second of silence, he sighs - again doing his best to convey as much agony as possible - and shakes his hair loose.

She lets the silence stretch while he desperately tries to comb through it. Even if the color is awful, it doesn’t have to stick up in every direction known to man too.

“Well?” he prompts.

“Well,” she drawls back, her voice light with laughter. “It’s probably good you weren’t born with it,” she raises one hand to tap against her chin, feigning deep thought. “And I’m pretty sure they could sue me if I pinned this on Maybeline.”

“Very funny.”

She snorts halfheartedly as the only response, the corners of her eyes crinkling when she smiles. “If it helps, I actually don’t think it’s that bad.”

He grunts noncommittally and stands up. The way he wraps up his head to make sure he doesn’t dye his pillow too is notably more loose this time, but he decides it’s up to faith if it holds up through the night.

Ana’s briefly treated to a shaken view of his hand and the bathroom ceiling when he picks up the phone. He looks the bathroom over one last time and decides it’s looking good enough.

“Can’t you just go back to making fun of me?” he fumbles through the dark living room using the scares light from the phone to make sure he isn’t tripping over any of the dogs. “The pity is almost worse.”

He hears the ruffle of fabric when she adjusts how she’s sitting. Her voice is thick with sarcasm: “You wound me, I am nothing but genuine.”

He hopes the sentiment of ‘ _this is a verbal eyeroll_ ’ translates in the sound he makes as a response. 

“ _Anyway_ ,” he beats her to the next word, gracefully sidestepping what was properly another creative roast. “You think you’re good for tomorrow?”

He can’t help be a tad smugly satisfied with how pained her groan sounds. He pushes open his bedroom door with a foot, hums low and prompting at her.

“It’s gonna be fine,” she exhales heavily. “It’s gonna go fine.”

“You haven’t read anything either?” he flops down onto his bed, holds the phone steady in both hands above his face.

“I’ve sure been at a desk.” She does one of her low, scratchy little half sighs, half laughs. When she leans back in her chair the light spills over her and he sees that she’s still slouched at her kitchen table, a mug of tea - probably supposed to be sleep inducing - stand shameful and empty at her left hand. 

He snorts back, rubs a hand over his eyes again.

“Sounds good to me.”

“You know, twenty minutes ago I’d say you’d been more productive.”

He demonstrably rolls his eyes. “It’s not _that_ bad.” It sounds mildly pleading even to his own ears.

Her head tips to the side, one slim eyebrow quirked slightly even as she never deigns to answer. After a beat he sighs, rolls onto his side to look more comfortably at her. “Should maybe try and sleep it off.”

She lifts her mug in a short, sarcastic toast. “Here’s to the hopeful.”

“And no sleep for you?” he rolls again till he lays on his belly, chin propped up on his crossed arms. 

This time, it’s her rubbing both hands across her eyes. She murmurs something low and probably arabic. “You know, I actually considered staying up watching obscure french netflix series to get a feel for the language.”

When she grimaces, even as it’s angled down at her desk, he can’t help but mirror the expression. When she looks back up, expression somewhere between an apologetic smile and pure agony, he gestures to the cup in her hand. “That’s it, I’m cutting you off.”

She rolls her eyes, tips it to show the empty bottom of the mug. “You’ve come too late.”

He throws out one hand, grins crooked and almost wide enough to hide the sneaking tiredness. “My job here is done then.”

Her gaze softens instantly. She _tsk_ s softly, the mug dangles loosely in her grip. “You’re probably right though, I should get some sleep.”

He’s nodding already before she’s finished the sentence. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

“Looking very much forward to hearing Angela’s opinion on your stunt.”

Her camera struggles to uphold the quality when she gets up and the table lamp swims in a sea of shaken darkness. 

“She is gonna point out all the ways I’ve managed to use a wrong technique or something.”

Ana _hm_ s knowingly somewhere in the dark. He hears the creak of floorboards as she walks through a silent house. “Let’s see if she’ll stop there.”

“I need you to understand that you are without a doubt the most creative when it comes to insults,” he grins

She makes a few, doubting sounds but puts up no real defense. He’s also pretty sure he can see the glint of a grin even in this low lighting. 

“Stop smirking I’m saying you’re mean.”

“Okay Shrek-head.”

“You can do better than that.”

“I’m sleep deprived and in french mode, this is bullying.”

He sputters slightly, but she’s emerged into her room and in better lighting the glint in her eye is crystal clear; there’s absolutely no way he’s getting the last word in this one.

He holds a hand up in surrender. 

“Let’s just see what she says then.”

“Ten quid she has at least one creative insult.”

“You’re on, it’s all griping about my hair being damaged.”

She chuckles, soft and raspy. 

He rolls his eyes one last time, the fondness bubbling over in the way his head shakes, the way he can’t hold back the smile. “Remember my money tomorrow.”

There’s a pull by her nose, the quickest little wrinkling of the skin when she smiles. “Let’s see about that.”

\----

“I can’t believe you all stayed up for this.” Angela gestures to Jack almost as soon as she’s within hearing range. 

Ana stops mid-bite in her sandwich to arch an expectant eyebrow at him. He turns slightly to look at Angela as she approaches the table they’ve managed to secure. He drops his head in his hands just as she gets close enough to very critically fluff up his hair.

“And here we go,” he’s not entirely sure if it’s directed at Ana or just a general defeated surrender to his fate the next twenty minutes.

Angela doesn’t seem to mind, she just keeps staring daggers at him as she pulls out a chair and sits down between Rein and Ana. She’s chewing on the inside of her lower lip, looking at him like he’s a complicated equation in need of solving. Rein chuckles heartily, earning him a soft elbow in the side when she scoots properly into place in her chair.

She crosses her arms on the table, neatly pushes her lunchbox to the side so she can lean slightly forward until Jack is put in mind of a doctor’s appointment with him playing the part of a patient who's called in and casually described the symptoms of something fatal.

“Why?”

Ana sputters, a chunk of lettuce escaping her. “To the point.”

Angela glances to her, the corner of her mouth subtly upturned even as her head shakes in pretend afront, like Ana should be able to intuitively understand her attack strategy. “I’m giving the man an opportunity to defend himself.”

Ana looks like she’s considering for a second, then she nods sagely. It mixes poorly with how she’s subtly trying to claw her lost piece of lettuce back onto her plate.

“I am right here,” he tries and wishes he’d worn if not a hat then at least something with a hood.

Angela’s eyes are cool and blue when she nods and Ana’s apparently content with smirking knowingly and taking it all in, so he turns to Rein for support instead. He shrugs goodnaturedly, already returned to the task of consuming what Jack’s pretty sure is an actual pound of whole grain pasta.

Ana and Angela have launched into a conversation he thinks is about the next thing Angela plans to do with her own hair. He consoles himself with the fact that as it stands, Ana stands to be paying him 10 dollars at the end of the day.

He groans. “Do you at least think you did well on the test?” 

Rein starts opening his mouth to answer, his hands already rising to follow the beat of his speech, but Ana cuts him off.

Suppose it was overly optimistic to think he’d get off that easily.

“You know, you can’t wear vegetable colors anymore now right?”

He looks at her with a face almost drained of expression except for a slight twinge of mild disappointment. It only makes her smirk widen. 

“What the fuck is a vegetable color?”

She smiles with childish glee and sits up straighter in her seat.

“Right now,” she gestures at him, he follows the moment of her hand to gaze down at his fairly standard dark blue sweater, ”you’re essentially wearing an eggplant cosplay, and if you ever don orange it’ll take carrot top to a new height.”

“I genuinely don’t like you or trust your fashion advice.”

Rein laughs around a bite of pasta. Angela nods sagely along.

Ana shrugs slightly, then continues undeterred. “Shame, it’s good advice.” “You should probably steer clear of red too unless you want to spread some early holiday cheer.”

She’s smiling at him with real warmth, that fond glint in her eye he knows she usually keeps under wrap. He sighs so dramatically Rein takes pity on him and pads him three times heavily on the shoulder. 

“Thank you, Will.” He rubs over the affected shoulder absentmindedly. “I sometimes think you’re the only one here who truly loves me.” He looks pointedly at the two others.

Angela smiles and rolls her eyes, Ana just snorts. “It’s called tough love and it’s necessary.”

“Doctor’s orders.” Angela supplies, eyeing her wrist watch and closing her lunch box back up with nimble hands.

“Hey,” he points at her across the table, “it’ll take a couple years before you can legally use that argument.”

She grimaces, though she somehow manages to retain the air of doctorly grace. “And some luck too to be honest.”

Ana winces. “Touché.”

“Well, time, luck and this biology class too.” Angela places both palms of the table, her back straightening before she gets up and pushes the chair in after her.

Jack groans, “oh shit it’s biology now?”

Ana’s nose crinkles. “Aye sir, let’s go.”

He lets his forehead hit the table with a defeated sigh before he too angles to get up. “Did anyone read the pages for this one?”

Angela is the only one who has the good grace to look slightly shameful when he asks. Rein just shrugs, hurriedly scarfing down the last of his pasta while he gets to his feet. “I aim to become a trophy husband.”

Jack nods understandingly, eyes gliding to Ana as his last resort. She is - as expected - already smiling slightly resigned. 

“Don’t look at me, I watched french netflix.”

“Of course.” He holds up both palms in surrender.

They manage to make it out of the canteen before the rush back to class really starts. It’s necessary if they want to make it up the three flights of stairs to the biology classroom. Jack’s just thankful they don’t have morning classes up there anymore. He’s pretty sure having to walk up stairs early in the morning must be some sort of torture. 

Angela smiles at them as soon as they enter the room and beelines to her spot in the front row. She’s resigned herself to the fact all three of them will never come to match her enthusiasm and that Ana has staunchly refused to ever exist in the same row as Moira O’Deorain - the only person in the class who pays as close attention as Angela.

Instead, Jack snatches a spot on the last row, back almost to the wall. Ana slips into the seat next to him, Reinhardt scooting close on his other side. 

“Oh, Jack?” Ana looks up at him as she slings her bag over the backrest, starts digging for her biology book.

He returns her gaze hesitantly. “Do I want to hear it?”

She rolls her eyes, smiles good naturedly. “Yeah, you too, Will.”

Reinhardt pokes his head out from beside Jack, leans forward with his forearms on the desk. A lock of his hair has escaped from the ponytail to bop in front of his left eye. It lazily returns when he tries blowing it out of the way.

“They’re working on a new play, said they could really use some extra help with it.”

Rein is already nodding compliantly.

“Really?” Jack is significantly less stoked. 

She pointedly doesn’t react to the flat tone. She beams. “Really.” She grins like a shark. “As Amelié told it, it’s a series of little vignettes with musical numbers in between, it sounded cool.”

“And?” he probes before she can turn away and start digging through her bag after a pencil case.

“And they need more dudes for one of the scenes. Oh! And the stage show includes something heavy they want Wilhelm to hurl around.” She smiles blindingly at Reinhardt, he bows his head slightly, the picture of gentlemanly acceptance.

She stares Jack dead in the eye when she returns her gaze to him, keeping up the expectant smile as he tries his best to convey a slightly exasperated _really?_ though eye-contact alone. It’s thick in his tone too when he speaks:

“You want me, on a scene, looking like this?” he gestures vaguely upwards. 

“Staging these things takes time, silly.” She turns and starts her hunt for the pencil case.

He snorts, turns back to Reinhardt.

“Why me?”

Rein shrugs, smiles that bright smile of his. “You said yes once too many.”

Jack can’t help but aquies with something halfway between a grumble and a laugh. 

“I’ve got you,” Ana comes back up with her stuff, sprawls over her desk towards him. She’s holding out one hand, pinky extended to show him when she twirls a lock of black hair around it. “Wrapped.”

He rolls his eyes but knows his resistance is a farce, he’ll end up saying yes and though he will feel awkward and out of his depth through the entire thing, he will have a good time doing it. It all started when the drama teacher asked Ana and the rest of the design class to help with some costume design back in their second year. The project ended and she still somehow hung around, chatting up some kid named Gabriel Jack still hasn’t fully mustered up the courage to go talk to even if he seems nice enough.

She enlisted Reinhardt first, when the set design involved heavy structures to imitate the shifting landscapes and the things ended up being heavier than expected. He only got involved when she approached the entire football team about needing _somebody_ to play a male character with a minor speaking role and nobody volunteered (though Rein probably would have had it been statistically possible to balance with his duties as a stagehand). Turns out she either likes him the best or he’s the easiest to rope into creative projects. Probably a mix of the two.

He sighs deeply. “Do I have to dance?”

Rein barks a sympathetic laugh. Jack pads him thankfully on the arm. The put-on innocence in Ana’s smile tells him everything he needs to know.

“You really know how to kick a man who’s already on the ground you know?”

She sputters, her eyebrows drawing close in an expression that is almost painfully tender. “Wouldn’t go to you if I didn’t think you had it in you.”

He handwaves it away. “I know I know, as long as I don’t gotta sing.”

Her shoulders bob indecisively, but looks like she doesn’t want to argue with him on this one today. “This time, I won’t ask you to.”

She’s still smiling that sharp, fond smile when their teacher stumbles through the door and it becomes a lot more important to at least look like they’ve read today’s homework rather than laying out a strategy for how he’ll embarrass himself the least while learning a new choreography. 

\----

“I’m not gonna read for tomorrow either.” The door has barely shut behind them, cutting off Winston’s ability to hear Ana’s decisive call to not expand her knowledge on peptides - not that he’d do probably much if he knew any way.

“No? Found something interesting and french to watch instead?” Jack steps aside to allow Rein through the hall door with him so they can begin their descend on the stairs.

She snorts. “Something like that.”

A year ago Angela would probably have responded with outrage, now she simply winces with the air of somebody who has very much made the same decision. 

Rein, first down the stairs, turns with a slight flourish to face them on the landing. “Behold the bright youth of today.” The one of his hands not holding the railing swoops out in a broad wave, like he’s heralding their arrival at some medieval ball.

Ana laughs, short and abrupt, jumps the last few steps down to him, stretching out a hand. “Thank you good sire.” He graciously takes her hand, spins her under his arm to start descending the next stretch of stairs.

“Why is it she ropes me into doing theater, again?” Jack asks Angela as they follow the two in less flashy fashion. 

She laughs, melodic and sweet and Jack can’t help but take in the three of them - Rein and Ana awaiting smiling and Angela looking both a tad tired and very soft. It’s astounding how much more beautiful he finds them now than when he met them not even three years ago.

\----

Angela lives close enough to the school it makes sense to walk. Jack has spend countless afternoons in her kitchen drinking tea and chatting with her only slightly intimidating doctor dad. She waves fluidly before she starts walking away from them.

Rein takes off on his bike. “Don’t get hit by a car!” Ana yells after him as is customary. He waves back to them, sending her an absentminded thumbs up. 

It leaves the two of them standing there. Jack waits a minute then swirls on his heels. “Ten dollars ma’am.” He holds a hand out.

She backs away physically. It’s clear the cogs are turning for a creative way out of the wager. “You didn’t think she had enough of a disappointed air about her for it to count?” she tries, her hands splayed slightly at her sides.

He rolls his eyes with a soft smile. “No but I can do with just the satisfaction of being right if you promise not to tell.”

Her lone dimple deepens when she smiles crooked and soft. “Oh of course your public image, can’t have it damaged in any way.”

“Careful,” his voice bubbles with amusement even as he points a warning finger at her. She holds her hands up in soft surrender as they start walking. 

“Oh, looks like we’ve missed the early bus,” she sighs when she uses the hand movement to chech her wristwatch.

Jack shrugs, they usually have to run to catch the first bus anyway unless they’ve gotten out a couple minutes early. And it’s only ten minutes till the second one rolls up.

She turns to him, her hands clasped around the shoulder strap of her bag. She’s looking up, mouth slightly askew, taking him in for a second. “I still can’t believe you did that.” Her eyebrows jump, her head tipping slightly to gesture softly up at him.

He snorts a short laughter as he turns and they start walking. She falls in beside him effortlessly. “You said it yourself, young and dumb.”

“Yeah, but I thought it was a facade you put on.”

He bumps their shoulders together. She pokes her tongue out. “I forgot you had faith in me as an actor, I’m not that good.”

“Hey, don’t be harsh on yourself, that’s my job.”

He acquiesced with a bop of the head like he’s considering the truth of her words.

“Didn’t even get to ask, when are they starting it?”

She looks confused for a second.

“The play I mean,” he clarifies just as her face lights up in understanding.

“Oh, yeah yeah. Sometimes next week I think? They’ve apparently been writing and planning it for a while. Amelié’s been talking about it for a while actually.”

He can’t help but wince slightly.

“Is she doing the choreo for this one too?” 

She grins, pads him on the back as they walk. “Yes, but I did remind her the ballet elements didn’t go well last time.”

“Hopefully she didn’t take it too bad?”

“Oh you did completely ruin her creative vision.”

“I hope you’re being sarcastic but I honestly can’t tell.”

She smiles blindingly and smugly, hooks an arm around his waist. “A little bit. But don’t worry, Gerard apparently talked to her about it before so he might have taken the fall for you.”

“Please,” he breathes out in relief. “Like she could ever be mad at him.”

Her gaze instantly grows conspiratorial. “You don’t know how much of a bastard he can be.”

He’s already holding up a hand to deflect. “Please I already know he stole your markers, I just don’t think Amelié carries as much as a grudge over that one.”

She smiles with a low snorting laugh, shakes her head slightly in surrender. “Well she should.”

The silence stretches as they approach the bus stop. She removes her arm from around his mid, corrects how the bag rests on her shoulder. She nods decisively to herself. When she looks up at him it’s with determination like she’s planning their battle strategy.

“So, yes, next week. It looks like they’ll start rehearsing sometimes next week, though perhaps I should suggest pushing it a bit so we’re sure you’ll be back to looking presentable at the premiere.”

He fights to keep up the deadpan because he knows it will enhance the delivery:

“I’m gonna give you a mullet in your sleep.”

She barks a short, bubbling laugh. “And I’d rock it!”

She pulls him into a short, sideways hug, her head coming to rest against his shoulder when she squeezes him slightly. He lets his head thump down onto hers just as the bus pulls up.

“You don’t even know how bad I am with scissors.”

\----

**Ana & The Blondes**

March 2nd 16:56

TEAfling changed Jack F. Morrisons’s nickname to **Banned for Blonde Crimes**

Angie changed the group name to **Ana & The Blondes and also Jack is there**

  
TEAfling changed Jack F. Morrisons’s nickname to **Unbanned**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Once again I need to give a massive thanks to the OW gaymers discord and Emile without who this would never even have become an idea in my mind
> 
> Please, if you have the time, consider leaving a comment. It really does mean the world to know what people think!


End file.
